Fey 02 - Changeling (24 page)

Solanda drank the entire mug's worth, then set it on the mantle of the fireplace.
 
At least Burden had used stone for that.
 
It appeared to be the only luxury in the place.

"So you have done no work on your magic abilities?"

"It should be obvious," he said, his tone sharp.
 
Then he put a hand over his face.
 
"Sorry.
 
I'm just not pleased with the way my life has gone."

She almost commiserated with him.
 
Almost.
 
But she understood and he didn't.
 
The key was to make him understand.

"Have you always insulted your betters?"

He brought his hand down.
 
In the flickering light, he looked very young.
 
"I didn't mean to insult you."

"I know," she said.
 
She would have to speak with caution.
 
He was very defensive.
 
"I was asking the question seriously.
 
Have your betters always heard your words as insults?"

He frowned as he considered.
 
Almost unconsciously, he pulled over a stool and perched on it, his right foot hooked in the rungs, his left on the ground.
 
"Not before Shadowlands," he said.
 
"In Shadowlands, I couldn't say a single thing Rugar wanted to hear.
 
Or Jewel, toward the end."

"And you didn't think it odd?" Solanda asked.

"I thought perhaps I was overstepping my bounds.
 
But someone had to.
 
Rugar didn't see clearly and Jewel was caught up in something else altogether —"

Solanda waved a hand to silence him.
 
She didn't want to hear his justifications.
 
They didn't matter.

"Yet other people listen to you," she said.
 
"Others of lesser importance."

"I don't think the people who've settled this place are of lesser importance," he said.

That defensiveness made it difficult to speak to him.
 
The Shaman had failed in her duties.
 
She should have pulled this boy aside when he was in Shadowlands.
 
Solanda would have a talking with her when she returned.

"According to Fey rankings, they are," Solanda said.
 
"The highest magic you have here is a Weather Sprite."

"Hanouk is talented."

"Hanouk controls the clouds.
 
If we were still in Nye with the Black King, she would never be invited to his home let alone sup at his table."

Burden brought his other foot up so that it too hung from a rail.
 
The position made him look like a small child, huddling, awaiting punishment.

"But they all listen to you, don't they?" Solanda asked.

"All but Hanouk sometimes," he said.

"Like that woman did today."

He shook his head.
 
"She was easy.
 
The Islanders are always easy, if you approach them right.
 
Most people don't approach them right."

"Most people can't Charm," Solanda said.

He brought his head up so fast he had to put a hand on the stool seat to keep his balance.
 
"What?" he whispered.

"I can Charm, although I usually choose not to," she said, ignoring him.
 
"It's easier in feline form, though, I have to admit.
 
I don't have to say stupid things.
 
But a pure Charmer, those are rare.
 
I haven't seen one since we entered Nye.
 
The skill is so very subtle that it's hard to recognize.
 
But there are some tells."

"Tells?" He was still whispering.

She nodded.
 
"The biggest is that Charmers anger those that aren't susceptible.
 
You had no chance with Rugar.
 
A Visionary will not listen to a Charmer.
 
A Visionary had his own version of truth.
 
The fact that Jewel wouldn't listen toward the end only confirms something I suspected — she started having Visions of her own here on the Isle.
 
The Shaman, Enchanters, the Spell Warders, and Shifters will never succumb to your talents.
 
But Domestics, particularly inexperienced minor Domestics, Weather Sprites, Wisps, and most of the military will listen to anything you say.
 
If that woman is any indication, Islanders are sheep."

He licked his lower lip, then bit it.
 
Finally he said, "You mean I have magic?"

"My friend, you wouldn't look like you do if you didn't.
 
And I would guess you came upon it somewhere in the middle of the Infrin Sea, before we entered the mouth of the Cardidas.
 
No one noticed in the battle, and once we got to Shadowlands, it became a problem rather than something to be diagnosed."

"But there are no Charmers on the Isle," he said.
 
"They're all in Nye."

Solanda nodded. She understood the dilemma.
 
She had been born in a war camp and had apparently Shifted the moment she hit air.
 
If the Domestic tending her mother hadn't had experience with Shifters, Solanda would have died then.
 
No one in her family had ever Shifted.
 
No one in the camp had.
 
For the first three years of her life, three very important years, Solanda had learned about Shifting alone.

"I think we'll need to take you back to Shadowlands, and let you talk to the Warders," Solanda said.

"No," Burden said.
 
"I belong here.
 
Everyone depends on me."

"They depend on you because you Charmed them," Solanda said.
 
The heat from the fire had gone all the way through her.
 
It was all she could do to keep from asking Burden if he had a rug, and if she could curl up on it.
 
"If you left, they would realize that they're living in mud and broken down buildings."

"It gets better in the summer."

And worse in the winter, she thought, but said nothing.
 

"Rugar doesn't want me back," Burden said.

"Of course not," Solanda said.
 
"Your power conflicts with his."

Burden straightened his legs and got off the stool.
 
He walked over to the fire and peered into it as if it had all the answers to his problems.
 
"You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"About you?" Solanda asked.
 
"Of course."

"You are?"
 
Burden's voice rose.
 
"You can't, Solanda."

"I tell him everything.
 
That's part of my job."

"You're a Shifter.
 
You're the best of the best."

"I am still Fey," she said softly.
 
No matter who she was, she still had a debt.
 
No one let a debt go free.

Burden suddenly looked at her, really looked at her, as if trying to peer into her soul.
 
"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Because a woman was chasing me with Holy Poison," Solanda said.

"No," Burden said.
 
"Outside Shadowlands."

"To see what the reaction is to the King's death."

He nodded.
 
"It's been amazingly quiet, hasn't it?
 
If a Black King had been assassinated, there would be riots in the street."

The thought sent a chill through Solanda.
 
He was right, of course.
 
The Fey never took the death of major leaders well.
 
The Islanders were moving through this as if it were the norm.
 
Rugar's Vision was failing him.
 
If his intent had been to cause civil unrest, he had failed.

Then Burden gave her the appraising look again.
 
"How did you know about the King's death?
 
The criers hit the streets this morning."

Solanda didn't answer.
 
It was not his place to know her duties.
 
Besides, she hadn't known of the King's death either.
 
Hers was just a highly educated guess.

Burden put a hand on the mantle as if bracing himself.
 
"Jewel was here yesterday.
 
She said a Fey killed Alexander.
 
It wasn't you, was it, Solanda?"

"Please," she said in the most haughty tone she could manage.
 

"If not you," Burden said slowly, "and if it were Fey —"

"We were talking about taking you to Shadowlands," Solanda said.

"— then it was Rugar, wasn't it?"
 
Burden frowned.
 
"But Rugar would never hurt Jewel."

"Who said the Islander King's death would hurt Jewel?" Solanda asked.

"Jewel did."
 

Burden's words hung in the air.
 
He rested his head against the mantle.
 
The afternoon had clearly been too much for him.
 
He would have a thousand questions, and by morning, a thousand more.
 
Sleeping on his rug would be a very bad idea.

"Come back with me," Solanda said.
 
"Let's talk to the Shaman."

He shook his head.
 
"Bring the Shaman to the Settlement.
 
We need a Visionary here."

"You need to leave this place," Solanda said.
 
"It's not healthy here."

"It's no healthier in Shadowlands," Burden said.
 
"No matter what you think of me, Rugar's worse.
 
What was he thinking, killing their King?"

"Perhaps he wanted Jewel closer to the throne."

"Perhaps," Burden said.
 
"But Rugar's motives are rarely that simple."

Solanda knew that quite well.
 
It had been a fact she had been unwilling to think about.
 
Rugar's complexity had gotten her into trouble more times than she cared remember.
 
"He does what's best for us," she said.

"Yeah," Burden said.
 
"Like coming to Blue Isle in the first place."

TWELVE

Three layers of Domestic-made clothing had not kept her warm.
 
Jewel put her hands over her distended stomach, willing the baby to move.
 
All this tension, all this turmoil, could not be good for the baby.
 

She moved closer to the fire.
 
Nicholas was kneeling before it.
 
He had been feeding logs into it, but he had stopped mid-movement.
 
His eyes were glazed, and his lower lip was trembling.

Their bedroom was cold, as cold as the gravesite had been.
 
The household staff had forgotten a fire in the King's room, and placed one in hers instead.
 
Nicholas and Jewel had almost slept there, but Sebastian had whimpered in his sleep in the next room.
 
The sound brought tears to Nicholas's eyes and, without saying a word, he had taken Jewel's hand and led her across the gallery and into his suite.
 

The King's suite now.

She slowly eased herself down beside her husband, placing a hand on his back.
 
The muscles were stretched tight.
 
He didn't move at her touch, not a flinch, not any kind of response at all.
 

"Nicky," she said.
 
"I have something to tell you."

He finished placing the log on the fire as if he had never stopped.
 
Then he put the iron grill back in front of it.
 
"Let it wait, Jewel.
 
I don't need more tonight."